


Toe the Line

by goldenwatcher



Series: What Went Wrong [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, angel!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwatcher/pseuds/goldenwatcher
Summary: Archangel Raphael, Prince of the Choir of Virtues, steps in and teaches one of her charges the difference between questions regarding Creation, and questioning God.  This lesson and her attention changes the course of Crowley's future.
Relationships: Crowley & Raphael
Series: What Went Wrong [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546552
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Toe the Line

**Author's Note:**

> This is Crowley's background leading up to the third installment of this Role Reversal series. Throughout these stories, Crowley is referred to by his angelic name, which is Zaskiel.

Zaskiel finished setting the last bit of color into the nebula that twisted in his hands, turning it this way and that to verify the colors. He cocked his head, considering the sparkling display before him, then dragged his fingers through the gases, blending everything just a touch. The prismatic smears finally left the piece feeling finished and he set it aside to be hung in the cosmos. He wasn’t out in the field quite as much as he’d like; hanging his creations felt like completion but it was often someone else’s job and he had to admit he loved being in the factory.

“Interesting choice,” a voice said from behind him.

Zaskiel stiffened slightly in surprise and turned to see Archangel Raphael studying the newly minted nebula. They weren’t really supposed to tweak the designs they were given. It was rare that anyone noticed the changes with their heads all wrapped up in the bigger picture, but of course Raphael would.

“I made sure that the heat and gravitational pull remained consistent within the set parameters,” he said awkwardly, trying not to squirm with guilt. Staying still was not exactly his specialty.

Raphael smiled at him. It was both warm and a little sad which left Zaskiel vaguely concerned. “Walk with me?” she requested.

He wouldn’t consider refusing the prince of his choir, or any other Archangel at that. He cleaned up the stardust smeared on his hands and offered her his arm. Raphael led him out of the factory to pace around the light of Heaven.

“Is something wrong?” Zaskiel finally asked. The squirmy feeling hadn't faded one iota.

Raphael glanced up at him. “You’ve been seen talking with Lucifer.”

He didn’t understand why the comment increased that strange, guilty feeling. “Is that a problem?”

She stopped, turning to look at him with her honest, verdant eyes. “You have such an interesting mind, Zaskiel. There is imagination in you, something that is not widely shared even amongst Virtues. But that can lead to questions.”

“Lucifer said there’s nothing wrong with questions.”

She shook her head. “There isn’t, as long as you understand the difference between questions and questioning.” She cupped his cheek, keeping his confused eyes focus on her. “Questions bring illumination to Her great creations, and there is grace in such wonderment. But I hope that you will not let them lead you to questioning Her.”

Zaskiel blinked quickly. For some reason, he felt tears pricking his eyes. “I don’t want to question Her,” he assured. “I just… I’d like to understand.”

“And I would like to help you with that. Lucifer…” Raphael drifted off, her eyes reflecting her concern. “I love him, but I worry for him, as I worry for you. He is an Archangel, and our Lord will handle his questions as She chooses, but you are a Virtue, and She has made you mine. I ask you, Zaskiel, for my love of you, please come to me with your questions. Let me guide you, as is my duty and joy. Will you give me that?”

Zaskiel’s eyes fell as he grappled with his emotions. He felt chastised, and he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. There was nothing improper in speaking with an Archangel if they allowed it, nor to other angels higher than he. However, in all of that, it hadn’t occurred to him that bringing his questions to Lucifer rather than Raphael might disappoint his prince. He loved her, and certainly had never wanted to hurt her. “Yes, Raphael.”

Her smile was like a birthing star. “Wonderful.” The joy in her attention was stunning and he mindlessly sat next to her when she urged him down. He’d rarely had her focus turned on him like this, and it filled his being with warmth. “Tell me.”

That startled him out of his growing stupor, his eyes widening. “What? Now?”

“Is that a problem?”

It wasn’t exactly, but it felt strange and he wasn’t exactly prepared. He considered, then decided to start with something small. “Well, why are some galaxies larger or smaller than others?”

Raphael grinned. “Why are you taller than me? To teach us how everything can be beautiful.”

“But why is one galaxy in particular bigger? Why am I, a Virtue, taller than an Archangel?”

“Do you mean why does She choose those characteristics for that creation in particular?”

“Yes,” he nearly hissed in relief. It was often hard to get others to understand his questions, particularly anyone outside of Lucifer’s circle. He rarely even tried anymore.

Raphael considered for a moment, her hands idly stroking the grass they sat upon. “Well, I don’t know, of course. I cannot know Her will. But let me asking you a question of my own: why did you alter the design of the nebula?”

Zaskiel winced slightly. He’d rather hoped she would ignore that, but he should have known better. He picked at the edge of his tunic and shrugged. “The colors seemed stark. I just thought it looked nicer, more… wispy.” He made a vague, twisting gesture in the air with his hand.

She grinned, delighted. “Is it possible that God made you taller for a similar reason?”

He stilled, looking up at her. “What, because She felt like it?”

It was Raphael’s turn to shrug. “We cannot know the mind of God. We don’t know which of Her decisions are aesthetic and which are a part of Her plan. It is not our place to know, only to be as we were made. Carbon doesn’t know why it is paired with oxygen and it likely never will; nor may it know how great its significance is at the heart of a star. Besides,” here, her grin turned mischievous, “ who can truly know the mind of any artist?”

Zaskiel blinked slowly, turning that over in his head. It didn’t answer his question, not really. Essentially, her response was the same as everyone else's: it is part of God’s ineffable plan. The way she said it, however, as if she respected his questions and truly tried to answer in a way that might satisfy him: that helped. And truly, he did understand that last joke. As she’d demonstrated, he’d had his fair share of moments that boiled down to  _ I felt like it _ . Underneath it all, her warning tingled in the back of his head. He didn’t want to question God as if he had the right. He just so longed to understand.

He finally looked up at her and nodded slightly before tentatively offering the next question.

* * *

Zaskiel headed toward the back office to check for another project. Shortly after he’d opened up to her, Raphael had assigned him to work on a system that featured two binary stars with a third orbiting them. It had been a delight, the parameters sketched out but some room for creativity, and he’d thrown himself into the task with joy. Since then, he kept hoping for something similar, loving the play and balance of two or more bound objects. He’d received a few stars, but nothing else so intriguing. He could bide his time, however, and hoped he might earn further rewards by obeying his prince’s desire to become close.

He rifled through the blueprints, looking for one with his sigil on it, when a loud, horrible sound echoed through the vaults of the factory and lingered in every corner of Heaven, causing all actions to cease as he and everyone turned their faces up. It was the call of a trumpet, crisp and clear as it rang, summoning all to Heaven.

Zaskiel dropped the blueprints, his eyes widening as he looked around. Everyone seemed startled. They all knew what Gabriel’s trumpet meant: War. There had never been war before, nor such a summons. Who were they to fight? No one seemed sure what to do, but it was mere seconds before the factory doors blew open, admitting Archangel Raphael in all of her glory. Her wings were arched, eyes burning like twin stars, her staff held in her hand. She was flanked by two Powers with drawn swords, resplendent in their armor.

“There is to be a war,” Raphael announced, her voice both soothing and commanding as it filled the factory. “The Archangel Lucifer has rebelled against the Lord, our God, and has amassed a legion of his own. God has marked all those who have turned against Her by blackening their wings. Armies are gathering. Our duties, my Virtues, are to set up healing halls, to assist in the crafting of necessary armaments, and to meet with the Dominions in charge of legions.” She turned to look at specific angels. “Barriel, Lamentael, choose a few assistants…”

As she began to give orders, movement at the corner of his eye caught Zaskiel’s attention. Dazed, he looked over to see a blonde Virtue quietly slip to a side door. Outside, another angel with wings black as the edges of the universe awaited to lead her away. As Zaskiel’s eyes widened, she turned to see him watching and grinned sharply. She crooked one finger to beckon him to follow.

Panic flowed through him, the itch to move tingling his fingertips. She wouldn’t have marked him, would She have? He had listened to Raphael and gave her his questions, accepting her answers. He’d obeyed and hadn’t spoken to Lucifer since. He couldn’t fight the urge to flinch and spread his wings, noting that he was not the only one to do so. He arched them forward and emotion roared through him when he saw the pearly white feathers. She hadn’t abandoned him.

“Zaskiel!”

Raphael’s voice rang out, nearly jerking him forward in the need to obey. She beckoned to him with one hand.

He flicked his eyes to the side door, but the pair were long gone. He quickly made his way to the crowd and nearly threw himself into Raphael’s arms, trembling. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he whimpered, clinging to her even as her hands pet gently over him. The terror of his near-miss, of being marked as a rebel against God left him weak and filled with horror.

“Hush, my little one,” she murmured, clutching him to her. “You met your challenge and She has acknowledged that. I’m so proud of you.” Raphael cupped his face gently, urging him to look at her. “You are to assist me. I want you safe within my sights, yes?”

He gulped, nodding his head quickly. “Yes, my prince.”

* * *

Zaskiel stood not far behind Raphael, gazing out over the edge of Heaven with a heavy heart. The rebellion had ended, the Great War having an even greater cost of casualties from both sides. Those who were marked had been collected and were to be exiled from the reach of Heaven and God’s presence. The horror of being marked was nothing compared to what he had felt when he’d heard what the punishment would be. Everyone who was marked was to be cast out, no exceptions. Zaskiel had wondered for a moment if everyone marked had been a willing rebel, or if some of them had made a mistake like he nearly had. He did not voice this question and quickly put it out of his head. It was God’s will; She had marked them, and She had Her reasons to do so. To believe that She was wrong about the marked meant She could be wrong about the unmarked, and that line of thought lead to blackened wings.

The banishing had gone quickly toward the beginning. Lucifer and his generals had been cast down almost immediately, and his more loyal followers had been eager to follow him into the abyss beyond. In time, the eagerness waned, though he doubted it was because of sudden doubts. Marked angels were herded and lined up, trembling at the edge of Heaven. Dominions stood in a line, ready to exile them as Powers guarded the rest of the Host.

These rebels were pale and drawn, terrified things. Their hands were bound before them, wings out to show their disgrace. They did not look like the loyal followers of Lucifer; rather, they were cringing and small, as if they didn’t understand why this was happening. Some were outright weeping.

Zaskiel had spent the war by Raphael’s side. He’d healed the injured and crafted corporations for those who needed new ones, and had seen more than his fair share of lifeless angelic eyes. He’d grown accustomed to the miseries without losing his compassion, but a part of him truly ached for these wretched beings, who obviously had displeased God but didn’t know how or why. He pitied them, but at the same time, he could almost weep with relief that it wasn’t him standing there.

One in particular caught his eye. The principality had pale blond curls, his round face almost gray with distress. He was clear-eyed but still seemed as if in shock. The Dominions began moving, going as far as pushing the marked ones over the edge. The principality was crowded back, but he avoided being touched. Still, there was only so far he could go, and his foot eventually stepped over the edge. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something that Zaskiel, in all the horrors of war, had not seen before: despair.

The principality hovered in balance for a brief second, then was gone.

* * *

Raphael stopped just short of the edge of the known universe. Most angels didn’t like to go out this far. They looked upon the endless black and shuddered for the lack of God’s presence. Zaskiel, however, was not most angels. He saw the infinite possibilities of an artist’s blank canvas and reveled in it, which was why Raphael had allowed her dearest companion this assignment when he’d asked.

He was there, not having noticed her presence yet, long fingers dipped into a bed of stars to set the galaxy to spin. He’d taken to wearing black trousers and a tunic, not wanting to stand out so glaringly at the edge of the universe. His hair was a red nebula streaked with stardust, as if he’d absently run coated fingers through it so many times the elements had become embedded, too fond of him to fly away. His eyes were beaten gold like twin suns, hiding all the questions that flickered and died in his clever mind.

He was not older, of course, but definitely wiser. Yet Raphael couldn't help but worry. Some angels suspected Zaskiel should have Fallen, with his strange thoughts and black clothes. They never said that around her twice. However, she could see the bright inquisitiveness of his mind was locked away, chained by the fear of the Great War and how close he’d come to Falling. It both relieved and saddened her. She didn’t think he should be afraid of how God made him but she also knew where those questions could easily lead.

As she watched, he delicately singled out one swirling arm of the galaxy, then extended it off to the singularity at the side. He started to feed the galaxy to the supermassive black hole, setting his creation to be consumed with as much delight and care as he had in making it. He truly had an artist’s hands.

“Do you ever regret destroying them?” Raphael asked.

Zaskiel’s head snapped up, startled. When he saw it was her, he softened slightly, shaking his head. “It’s a dance,” he explained. “They are partners, forever moving together until they become one. The galaxy is never really destroyed, just changed, subsumed into the black hole.”

Raphael could sense the questions that hung, unvoiced and unthought, in the shadow of that observation. The air practically crackled with them. Curiosity birthed from vivid imagination lived in Zaskiel’s aura, which made most angels want to avoid him and his clever eyes.

“You’re quite a ways out,” she observed, looking about. There wasn’t another thing within reaching distance, which was impressive considering their reach.

“Everything is a bit more wild out here.” He carefully watched the dance of his creations, eyes flicking over them with immeasurable experience. Finally, he looked up at her with a half smile twisting his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can’t I just visit my companion?” she asked, grinning.

Zaskiel huffed a laugh. “I love you, Raphael, but you never come for a mere visit. How can I help?”

“Orders came in. It's been some time since I’ve seen you that I thought I’d deliver them myself.”

She knew immediately that her hedging was too obvious. He caught her hesitation like a predator scenting prey. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, exactly,” she sighed. “I just know you won’t like it. Armageddon has begun; well, the countdown anyways. The Antichrist is on Earth, so we have to begin preparing for war.”

Raphael found Zaskiel to be a rather sensitive being. He hurt with those he healed, and suffered through the war even if he’d never stepped foot on a battlefield. If she had her way, he never would, but she doubted she could keep him so sheltered She knew he wouldn’t rejoice at this news as others did. It was horrible to see what weapons could do to flesh.

Zaskiel sighed and rubbed his face, heedless of the stardust on his hands that now streaked his cheeks. “It feels too soon,” he said softly. “I fear it will be worse this time. There is so much built up animosity.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But it will be the end of it. We will no longer have to worry about discorporation, or worse, extermination.”

“Not much of that out here.” He studied his dancing galaxy and black hole, then shook himself. “You’re right, of course.”

Raphael held out her hand imploringly. “With me?” she asked softly.

Zaskiel’s answering smile was radiant as he reached back with his beautiful artist’s hands. “As always.”


End file.
